Vikki has been an incredibly busy girl of late, and exhausted as well. You’d think that would make me less horny and less likely to dally around with myself, but the opposite has been true. I’ve been obsessed lately. The slightest thing—the delicious curve of an ass seen on the subway, a sexy email from one of my readers (and there have been several lately, thank you! I promise to respond soon), a love scene on TV, a particularly unh-inducing song on the my streaming radio channel—and off I go, wet and throbbing as though I hadn’t already had three or four orgasms already that day.
I’m calling this my manic phase, for want of a better word.
Maybe it’s just hormones. Ah, the lovely reality of being a woman.
Do men masturbate like we do? I wonder sometimes. Some times I’m just needy, greedy, grabbing my vibe and cranking it up and pushing myself higher and higher over each pre-orgasmic hump until I shudder a moment or two later, and that’s it. Other times I need to take my time, rubbing my nipples, dipping my fingers into my wetness, rolling slow almost-not-there circles around my clit for ten or twenty minutes, savouring each progressive level of arousal like a fine truffle, before begging and moaning aloud and finally bucking against my fingers. Last time I did that I actually pulsed and throbbed for a full three minutes after orgasm (yeah, I counted). It was phenomenal.
Anyways, I always wondered if men did that too, different masturbation for different moods, sometimes perfunctory and quick, other times drawn out and intense. Or is it always about getting to the finish line?